


Hold me close, keep me safe

by sesquipedalianMarquis



Series: The Meraad Chronicles [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Tabletop RPG), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Bonding, Camping, Caring, Comfort, Developing Friendships, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Ferelden, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Short, The Fereldan Hinterlands, Touch-Starved, Trust, Vashoth, aka the ass-end of nowhere, she just doesn't remember, turaz is secretly ben-hassrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesquipedalianMarquis/pseuds/sesquipedalianMarquis
Summary: The qunari kid Meraad found by the side of the road is pretty messed up about the whole no-memory-at-all situation. He offers a hug.(Short and sweet comfort moment, seen from both sides of the interaction. Teen and Up because of swear words.)





	1. Turaz's POV

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is set in about 9:28 Dragon, two years before the start of the campaign. For context: Meraad found the yet-unnamed Turaz on the side of the road in the ass-end of the Fereldan Hinterlands about a week ago and decided to give in to his protective impulse. She has no memory, other than general awareness of the world.

Under any other circumstance, she might describe this as the most lost she’s ever felt. But that thought alone is enough to send her back into hysterics, because right now, as far as she’s concerned, anything right now is the most whatever she’s ever felt, because there’s nothing left in her brain of who she used to be. All alone, in the middle of nowhere, nothing but the clothes on her back. What a shitty way to come into awareness.

There should be more ambiance to this, she thinks bitterly. The rankling despair that sits in her chest deserves a downpour, or a thunderstorm, or at least a broody and foreboding sky, but no. It’s all clear, a million stars over them, a friendly fire crackling between them. It’s too nice and peaceful for her to feel this terrible, but she does, and there’s not even anything to do about it. So she hugs herself and cries, sobs as quiet as she can when she’s curled up in Meraad’s bedroll and he’s keeping watch, chokes back the tears when they sit together in rest during the day.

Meraad leaves her to her thoughts, for the most part. He speaks when spoken to, mostly, and otherwise just looks at her with those dark eyes of his. There’s some sadness on him, she can recognise that even in the state she’s in, something heavy he carries around like his oversized sword, but he doesn’t mention it. The only thing he mentions, really, is stories. Now and then he’ll offer something like “Do you want to hear about that time a Nevarran mayor hired some mercenaries to attend a wedding?” and if she accepts, he tells a little tale of some weird shit happening to him and then goes back to his silence.

Right now, he’s just sitting on the other side of the fire, not telling any tales. She’s spent about an hour or so crying, and he’s been politely ignoring that fact, busying himself with making sure they get to eat. There’s mushrooms and rabbit meat roasting over the fire. It probably smells nice, but her nose is too runny for her to tell proper.

“Hey, kid.”  
She startles, because he’s been silent the entire while, minding his own. Another story?  
“Mhm?”  
“This shit’s hitting you bad, huh?”  
No fucking shit. The hour of silent crying didn’t tip him off? She gives him a look that he actually wilts a little under.  
“Sorry. Yeah. What I mean is, you want a hug? I can’t fix it, but y’know. Creature comforts.”  
What? He’s offering hugs? To her?  
“Don’t have to,” he adds, maybe taking her startled silence as rejection, or whatever it is he’s thinking. “Just thought I’d offer.” And he’s withdrawing into his head again, ready to settle back into his silence, go wherever his thoughts go when he’s just existing while she suffers.  
Fuck, she wants a hug.  
“No, I… that might help.” Her voice sounds fucked up from the crying she did, and she wipes her eyes once more for good measure. Her face is still kind of damp. He’s got his arm lifted when she crouches down next to him, and it’s weird. The closest she’s been to him was when he carried her because she passed out, and she doesn’t recall that. For all intents and purposes, he’s still a complete stranger. She knows as much about him as about herself.  
“I won’t try anything,” he reassures — is that what he thinks she’s scared of? She leans against the bulk of him, and he settles his arm around her shoulder, and he’s not once been a creeper on her in the short time she’s known. It’s weird to trust a stranger that much, but no, she didn’t worry he’d take advantage.

For a few seconds, the two of them just sit there like that, and then everything catches up with her, just how fucking lonely she is, with no-one she knows except this weird guy with a huge axe. And he’s right there, really warm, all solid. She rests her cheek against his chest and slumps into him, and he shifts his arm around her shoulders, pulls her close, tucks her to his side all small and protected.

There’s a relief in it, a letting go. This guy might ditch her in some podunk town tomorrow, but right now, he’s keeping her safe and fed. For someone who’s got nothing, it’s good enough. And it’s a decent hug, too. She doesn’t have anything to compare it to consciously, but the weight of it is comforting. Meraad smells like the polish he uses to keep his weapons in shape, the scent clings to his shirt.

She’s been a little too distracted to notice it until now. But now that she’s got her cheek to his chest, she notices the necklace he wears, slipped out of the wide neck of his shirt. It’s not just a jewellery thing, it’s a massive tooth, framed in metal, on a solid-looking leather strip. There’s a part in the back of her mind that resonated when he said “you’re in Ferelden,” a part that knows what Ferelden is. It resonates now, tells her kadan, heart, centre of the chest, someone you care for, someone you trust. She wonders where his someone is.

His heartbeat is steady in her ear. It’s maybe a bit fast, but she decides not to question it right now. Maybe he’s as weird about this as her. But he seems content enough to provide this comfort, so she lets it lull her into an ocean calm. The fear is still there, the desperation, but it doesn’t sweep her away now that she has a rock to cling to.

“It’s helping,” she mumbles, tucks her arms closer to her chest and presses a bit closer.  
“I’m glad.” There’s a pause, a hesitation to him, and she thinks his heartbeat speeds up a little, and then he brings his other arm up and pats her head. It’s nice. Kinda weird, but nice.  
“Thank you, Meraad.”  
He twitches a bit at that, his hand stops for just a second, goes back to stroking her hair.  
“You’re welcome, kid.”


	2. Meraad's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now again, from the other side!

The kid’s pretty fucked up about this.

Understandable, really. If you woke up tomorrow in the middle of nowhere, alone, unarmed, with no memory, you’d probably be just as messed up. Still, that doesn’t mean you know how to help. So you leave her to deal with it, because if you talk to her you might make it worse. She cries, and tries to do so quietly, but crying really isn’t subtle, so you just pretend that it’s not happening. It doesn’t help.

She’s been crying for about an hour now, though. You should do something about it, because preparing dinner and ignoring her distress hasn’t helped at all. Maybe offering her a hug would do a step towards helping, but can you hug a random stranger on the road who’s just as likely to shank you for your gold as to say thanks?  
Then again. She doesn’t have anything to shank you with. And offering comfort seems like a helpful measure.

Ah, well. At this point, you might as well trust her. If she’s doing this to con you, she’s either so fucking good at it that she deserves the success, or a dumbass who has missed all of her opportunities so far.

And if she does try to kill you unarmed, well, you’ll still manage to break all her ribs before she can strangle you.

“Hey, kid.”  
She jumps when you speak. Startles like a rabbit, that one. Apprehension aside, you’re not sure she could kill you if she wanted to.  
“Mhm?”  
“This shit’s hitting you bad, huh?”  
Okay, that was maybe a bad thing to say. The look you get for that is somewhere along the lines of “of course it fucking is, you blithering idiot” and it would singe your eyebrows right off if she wasn’t still red-eyed from crying. Fair. You deserve it.  
“Sorry. Yeah. What I mean is, you want a hug? I can’t fix it, but y’know. Creature comforts.”  
She looks at you a little like you just turned into a sheep, or started speaking Old Tevene.  
“Don’t have to,” you amend. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“No, I… that might help.” Her voice is rough and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand before she comes over from her side of the fire. She sits next to you gingerly, all hesitant.  
“I won’t try anything,” you reassure her, lift your arm.

She leans against your side, and you settle it over her shoulders. There’s the space of a few heartbeats where she’s holding tension, like you might still hurt her, or pull back and make fun of her or something. And then she relaxes into it, rests her head against your chest. It makes the memory ring like a bell, of Reth snuggled against you like that. You pull the kid closer, urge to keep her safe filling your chest. She’s taller than Reth, her proportions unfamiliar to hold, but he was a fighter, he could keep himself alive. And he was well-adjusted. This kid’s alone, she’s scared and lonely and unarmed, and she might be dead if you hadn’t found her.

You want to keep her safe.

She’s looking at your wyvern fang when you glance down at her, and you hope she doesn’t ask, with how heavy on your mind that thought is right now. It’s easier to stay in the present when you’re looking at her, seeing her green skin and her backswept horns and her dark hair, remember that she’s not him.

Void, you fucking miss him sometimes. It’s been so long since you just held someone. She’s all compact and warm against your side, and fuck, you really like it. It makes you feel oddly safe, to hold her like that, and kind of yearn for more — not more as in fucking, just more contact, just holding her close. It’s been too long, too little, and you barely realised it until now, with her against your side.

“It’s helping,” she mumbles, tucks her arms closer to her chest and presses a bit closer. Good. You could get used to that, if you’re being honest with yourself.  
“I’m glad,” you tell her. And you’re not sure if you should, but this kid is fucked up and you wanna comfort her. You lift your free hand and pat her head gently. She doesn’t flinch away or complain, so that must be doing alright.  
“Thank you, Meraad.”  
You twitch a little, at that, have to remind yourself to keep moving your hand. She’s not Reth. It’s not the same. She’s just a kid on the side of the road who needs help. Well. You’re here to help.  
“You’re welcome, kid.”


End file.
